Fall Quarter Courseload

Start young and practice less later.

I had a tough time coming up with an adequate courseload this quarter. I need not to be loaded down with challenging classes, as I need adequate time to practice piano and violin. At the same time, taking fewer than 20 units may look bad on my med school application, in addition to my final standing in my class.  I think I've found the perfect balance. I'm taking exactly twenty units.  Only two courses (other than my piano recital)  are potentially labor-intensive.  Anglo-Irish Literature and History of Mexico could rob me of some practice time. English Upper Division Seminar might be time-consuming for the average person, but it's all memorization, and I remember every poem I've ever memorized. It's entirely memorization of poetry and/or prose if one so desires, but poetry is much easier to memorize, and the credit is by line.

The Anglo-Irish Literature class just seemed interesting. I'll put out a bit of effort for a genuinely interesting course. I haven't picked many courses because I wanted to take them or because they seemed interesting. I can allow myself this one indulgence.

Vocal/Instrumental Coaching goes right along with accompaniment. It seems you don't actually  have to be able to  sing to coach someone else in singing. Who would've thought it? You're not the student's primary instructor. You merely point out problems and offer tips as you're accompanying the person, stuff like, "Take a breath here so you don't run out of air here" and "You're not hitting the high note cleanly; put your chin down, relax, and turn up the corners of your mouth slightly so you neither slide into the note nor go flat." You tell them the same stuff voice professors told students in the voice classes all piano majors were required to accompany. I'll also be given two piano students, but I get to grade them, so if they don't practice and master what they're supposed to, they're screwing around with their own GPAs every bit as much as they're messing up mine.  I'll get them through the basics and everyone will be happy. If I can teach my brother to play piano, I can probably teach a German Shepherd the same.

The Orchestral Conducting course should be a breeze. I can read multiple staves simultaneously, have known the beat patterns since I was little, and can tell what is off when someone or something is off.  When my brother and  were young, one of the local symphonies used to have a fundraiser where for $100 you could pick from the orchestra's repertoire and conduct a movement of a piece. My parents always had Matthew and me learn the pieces we would ask to conduct, then would fork over the $200 for the two of us to conduct the orchestra. We did this for about eight years. It seemed like a joke at the time (especially the time my dad was a little buzzed and threw in an extra hundred so he could conduct a movement; the orchestra was laughing too hard to play) but now it gives me more confidence in taking this course. Most of my classmates will not have had the practical experience I've had. Conducting their own high school orchestras a time or two will be the sum of most of their experiences..

Although I would have preferred Civil War and Reconstruction to History of Mexico, the Civil War / Reconstruction class was an 8:00 a.m. class. I can't think of very many good reasons to drag myself out of bed in time to be in class at 8:00 a.m.  A class about the Civil War / Reconstruction by itself most certainly is not sufficient reason.  I'll become obnoxiously informed about the history of Mexico instead. One never knows when it might be advantageous to have the knowledge to bore someone out of his or her skull. I'm already well on my way to being irritatingly tiresome when it comes to a variety of topics. I can add one more to my cadre.

I'm very glad I did the tough courses earlier in my academic career and need not practically kill myself with academics while I have one senior recital this quarter and one next quarter. For the most part, I'll spend most of my time glued to either a piano or a violin, anyway.

The following comprises my list of courses for this quarter:

Anglo-Irish Lit

Eng Dept Upper Division Seminar

Vocal/Instrumental Coaching

Orchestral Conducting

Senior Recital

Piano Accompanying

Gospel Choir

History of Mexico

This blog has ended. Go now in peace  to love and serve God and to search all available search engines with the intent of determining whether or not the picture at the top of the page is I or someone else.

Mrs. Ferrer

I've seen more flattering pictures of her, but I can't find of the others right now and it's time for purple sludge cough medicine.  She looks pretty in this one anyway.

I'm bored and awake and waiting fifty minutes until I can take my next dose of medication, so I'll throw a mini-blog together and post it.

She probably wouldn't appreciate  my calling attention to her, as I believe she values her privacy, but Judge Alex's wife, Mrs. Ferrer   (I will not use her first name here) is a very classy lady.  Mrs. Ferrer, if you ever come across this, keep in mind that my blog is low-profile and my readership is small. Nothing about you is being blasted across Page Six.

I don't know a great deal about Mrs. Ferrer because her husband respects her privacy and only shares the occasional anecdote, but a particular incident Judge Alex once related in an interview  I happen to have read clearly illustrates the character of Judge Alex's wife.

Judge Alex discussed the time when he had finished law school and was working as a civil litigator. According to him, it was a line of legal practice to which he was not terribly well-suited.  The bulk of his cases may have been related to medical malpractice and perhaps various forms of tort liability,  as much of  the workload of any civil litigator who cares to eat and/or feed his or her family on  regular basis often involves such cases.

Judge Alex found that this branch of law was highly financially rewarding for an attorney who was good, and Judge Alex presumably was skilled at the job. He mentioned that he did make a considerable sum of money during this segment of his career. The particular branch of law,  however, was not rewarding to the judge in a psychological sense.  I don't recall the specific words he used, but he said in essence that at the end of the day, the job left him feeling not terribly clean. Some aspects of the legal profession require a person, if he or she is to do the job for which he has been hired,  to on occasion violate his principles or to operate against his conscience. I don't know if the state of dislike of the work was to that extreme for the judge, but he did not like it.

Mrs. Ferrer suggested to the judge, according to the interview I read, "Why don't you just go back to being a cop? We got by on your salary as a police officer before, and we could again."   There's a noticeable difference in the salary of a police officer and that which  is earned by a successful litigator. It speaks volumes that Mrs. Ferrer would, for the sake of his happiness or peace of mind, urge her husband to give up a profitable career in civil litigation and to return to the police force even though it would have made a major difference in her husband's income and in the lifestyle the family could have afforded to maintain.

As it turned out, Alex Ferrer ran for and was elected to a circuit court judicial post.  After serving in in various capacities within the court system, and after presiding over several high-profile cases, Judge Ferrer chose to accept an offer to serve as  a TV courtroom judge, mediating small claims cases. The rest is history.

Judge Alex now presumably earns a salary that would make what he earned  either as a circuit court judge or even as a civil litigator seem like pocket change by comparison.  The Ferrers are in an income bracket that would be considered wealthy by almost anyone's standards.  Wealth, unfortunately for some, cannot be used to purchase refinement, decorum,  character, or anything of such nature. It did not matter for Mrs. Ferrer. She already possessed these qualities.

Duggar Video

they who spawned the "talent" displayed in the video

The Duggars made a music video using some old Marty Robbins song.  (The fact that kids so young even know a Marty Robbins song is , to me, more than a little eerie.)  .Here's a link  http://duggarsblog.blogspot.com/2013/09/duggars-film-music-video.html#comment-form. Hint: even though the two have nothing to do with one another, if you think Mark Russell is funny, this video might be something you'll enjoy.  Second hint: Ondansetron works best for me in terms of controlling vomiting.

If your thought process is at all similar to mine, you'll wonder why they wasted the time, battery power, and anything else that went into the making of the video. To each his own, I say, but this is pushing my "live and let live" philosophy to its extreme.  If the Duggars are amused by making videos that are of poorer quality than what my second grade cousin's class could come up with, they should by all means  shoot and lip sync (or "lip sing," and one of their followers called it) away. (We're just lucky they didn't do their own singing, as it's highly likely the result would have been literally painful to the pitch-sensitive among us. Some of you may think I misused the word literal , but hearing off-key singing is painful to those with strong senses of  absolute or  relative pitch.) One thing I can't help wondering is if you took a random family in a random hick town and had them shoot the same video (which you couldn't really do, because torture isn't legal in the United States) would the Duggar fans laud the video with the same level of adulation were they to view it?  My guess is that it is only the idea that the Duggars produced the "music video"  that made it such a fine production in the eyes of the Dugggar fans. I also think the Duggar fans wouldn't be able to listen to the pitchy singing, mediocre violin playing, etc.,  to which we are periodically treated if it the musicians were anyone other than the Duggars.

I don't wish to be a voyeur, as I've somewhat been on the other side of someone wanting to know more about me than I necessarily want them to know, but I can't help wondering exactly what goes on while the cameras aren't running that would produce the level of obedience that is observed when the cameras are running.  I think it's possible to raise well-behaved children without beating them, but I'm not certain I believe you can have the total and constant adherence that the Duggars appear to have from their children without instilling some element of fear, particularly when the parents are so vastly outnumbered by offspring.

I may be totally off-base.  Maybe JimBob and Michelle have a secret or two to which other parents are not privy that doesn't involve any threat of physical pain or excessive deprivation.  What they've published so far  I'm not swallowing as being the answer to domestic bliss. I'm not saying some of what they do is not good practice. I simply suspect a little more goes into achieving the level of compliance than what the public sees.

In a weird way I still like Michelle. If she and JimBob ever decided they could no longer make it as a couple, I'd be happy enough to have her as a neighbor. I don't fully  buy the sometimes forced smile, though, nor do I think a family can achieve the level of adherence to rules that we see when the older children are doing much of the parenting unless both the older and younger children have something to fear if the adherence isn't there.

Who wants to know about me?

This is obviously not me,. For one thing, the boobs are much too big. Someone had a problem with the picture my dad's friend took, so I'll use this instead.

Someone is very interested in me to the extent that he, she, or they have harassed  people who respond to my blog. The person or people are leaving odd comments and reading random past blogs in hopes of gaining my identity.  what is it about me that is so terribly interesting. maybe I really attend a major university. Perhaps I'm a thirteen-year-old wannabe who imagines what college life would be like.  Perhaps I'm a prostitute. maybe I live in the sticks in Idaho and am imagining in advance what my escape will be like when I get away from the sticks of southern Idaho and the LDS church and experience true freedom for the first time in my life. Maybe I'm someone's 86-year-old grandmother, or even grandfather.

I'm not sure why anyone cares, but I am unwilling to give up my anonymity. I rather enjoy the bizarre comments, but it would be nice if you would leave my cyber-acquaintances alone.

There are more productive things you could do with your time, just as there are probably more productive things i could be doing with my time than writing this blog. Writing this blog is, for me, therapeutic.  I say things I cannot say in real life. In order to do this, I do it under a cloak of semi-anonymity. I am not willing to give up my anonymity to just anyone without knowing to whom I'm giving it up and fr what reason. If you are one of a group of four people (if you ARE one of those people, you know who you are; I need not be more specific) or if you are a close associate of one of those people, you should cease and desist any contact with me for your own good. If you are someone else, sleuth away to your heart's content.

I've disclosed my reason for wasting my time on this blog. What is YOUR  reason for wasting your time? Are you acting at the bequest of a particular  blogging diva, or is it something more personal? Have I written something that offended you?  I'd love to know what it is about me that you find even mildly interesting.  Or are you not particularly interested in me but one of the self-appointed nosy Internet police, intent upon righting the wrongs of the blogging world?

Get a fucking life!

awake after about fourteen hours or so

from a stock photo; I'm too lazy to take a picture of my  own bottle

Something I took knocked me out for about fourteen hours, maybe more, maybe less; I've lost track. My mother heard mecoughing and came in to give me more purple sludge. If it's what knocked me out in the first place I suspect I'll be out again soon.  then again, amybe it was something else.

I'm getting many various and sundry  comments from anonymous bloggers, some complimentary but nit terribly sincere, and others random.  One commented on my format and how it looked just like her old one. I suspect she's hinting I stole it from her. I got it from blogspot's options. I've seen it in Mormon Mommy blogs as well. Maybe they stole it from anonymous, too. My guess is that they're all one and the same and are seeking info. If anyone wants to leave a comment, I'd appreciate a name,and ideally one connected with one of the log-in spots. Otherwise unless there's good reason, I probably won't publish the comment, though you;re freeto leave it for my eyes only, which is mostly whatit's for even if i publish it, anyway .

One commenter complained that she checked the box "please notify me when additional comments are made" and is now being notified when additional cmments are made. she wants me to fix if for her, but there's nothing I can do as far as I know. Hint to those who respond: don't check the "please notify me when additional comments are made" unless you really want to be notified of such. If you do, you're stuck unless you have greater knowledge of the workings if blogspot than I do.


Have a pleasant day.

megavirus

I would like to assume that anyone who reads my blog knows this is not I, but we'll leave it to everyone's interpretation. Regardless, it perfectly sums up how I am feeling. I suppose I could leave a link, but instead I'll let my stalker do his or her own work. Say hi to Becky (or Pat) for me while you're at it.                                                                                                                                                        

I have some sort of virus that doesn't have a name but has been hitting the area. The hospital has seen multiple cases of it. My pseudouncle is steering clear of the ER and is treating post-surgical patients on other floors. He wore a mask and examined me outside on the backyard deck to limit his exposure so he won't take it home to his wife, although she's sick with a milder version of the symptoms I have, so it may be too late for her anyway.

He prescribed an antiviral, gave me a mouth-dissolving antiemetic, and gave me steroids for my cough. He said if the cough gets any worse it will be a sign it's gone bacterial and I'll need an antibiotic on top of the antiviral, which  won't exactly alleviate symptom #2 of the gastroenteritis, but what has to be , has to be. I'm taking purple sludge with extra codeine, which can be an anti-diarrheal without the side  effects of Immodium or its stronger prescription counterpart.  My dad is out of town a the moment but will be back by tonight.

My mom just got a call.  Pseudoaunt has all my symptoms now, so there's little danger of cross-contamination.  There was talk of somethng polluting the oceam water here, but pseudoaunt never went in on Saturday.

The man who was in the final stages of some strange mitochondrial degenerative disease died today. The funeral will be Saturday.  When someone close to a person  or the spouse of a person to whom someone is close dies, one attends the service if at all possible no matter when it is, but it will be much easier for all those who wish to attend on a Saturday.

The bathroom isn't getting quite so much business, so something pseudouncle gave me must be working at least a little bit. I still sound like a barking seal.

feeling yucky

This is obviously not me, but it typifies at least part of my situation.

Since last night have had a combination of double gastroenteritis and cold/flu symptoms. I could deal with one, but not both.  It's an uncomfortable feeling each time you cough to have to be concerned about losing citrol, so to speak. I don't like to take Immodium or anything like it, because it works too well and starts a vicious cycle, so I've been getting my cardiovascular exercise before running to the bathroom, in addition to the infernal coughing, which has to produce some sort of cardiovasular impact, whether it be good or bad.

I didn't go downstairs or even next door to ask for anything, as I have 7-up in my fridge, and I just didn't feel like walking that far. I'm a late sleeper, so no one was initially concerned, but my mother eventually heard the coughing and came into my room. I talked her out of a trip up the road to my uncle's office because someone with a medical degre will be available sooner than we could've gotte there, anyway. Also, when one has the sort of gastroenteritis I have, it's not a great idea to be on the road for an hour, and there's not  great deal of commercde between here and there, which makes public restrooms few and far between.  My pseudouncle is coming by here with his diagnostic tools and an array of medications in attempt to prevent a trip to the pharmacy, if this is even anything medication beyond Tylenol or Ibuprofencan help.

My arms and shoulders hurt and it feels like iwas hit by a cement truck.

what my parents said

I am not either of these people, by the way. It was a promo shot from a local Grease production.

I  was nervous about mentioning the person who's too interested in me to my parents because of Internet troubles many year ago. I eventually said something after all the company had parted and had gone on their merry ways.  When I brought up the subject, my dad mentioned that the photographer told my parents he'd give waive his fees if he could sell it for limited use. My parents thought it was a terribly idea, but the guy said he'd be judicious about those whome he allowed to use it.  i think I'm grouped in as part of the Monsons family because of some LDS site my grandmother had her secretary share it with. The photographer didn't retain exclusive rights supposedly. Then again, maybe he did. I don't remember what was signed. I wasn't 18, so it required my parents' signature. I only agreed to it because my parents said they'd give me the money the photo shoot cost them if I chose to let the guy have the rights to sell it.  I don't think he had the rights to any of the other poses, but I'm not 100% sure. Becca, I don't think that doppelganger was I, as I don't even remember a pose resembling that, in addition to my thought that he didn't have rights to any other poses, but I'm not 100% sure.

I've looked around, and the photo isn't widely in use. Mainly the Mormons used it. They must've thought I appeared wholesome and the perfect Mormon girl. If so, what a laugh that is, and it shows how deceptive appearances can be. Other uses of it appear to be benign causes, as in a few non-profits.

I'm more concerned about the person's interest in it  and/or me than anything else. For the most part, for security reasons,  in terms of being anonymous, I'd prefer that no one thought it was really I, so the fact that heor she believes I'm being deceptive in posting my picture is of very minor concern. that he or she cares does bother me. I'm more worried about being outed to the enemies with whom I have violent past histories and court settlements, and someone considering this a violation of any terms of settlements. I've already said I'm not using my actual surname for this reason. I couldn't be open at all about the things about which I write if I were outed publicly as being the author of this blog.

I apologize to anyone who has been bothered by this person. I don't know how many of you this might be. I'm perplexed byt the amount of thime the person would be willing to devote to harassing me. It mkes it think it coud be personal except that anyone I know in real life would know that the photo is I.

My psuedoaunt has an interesting related situation where she modeled in college when she was an NCAA athlete. It's an extremely gray area for her, as she wasn't holding any athletic equipment or even wearing attire associated with her sport, nor was she trading in her fame for cash in doing a couple of photo shoots, as she had no fame, but how a court would interpret it should the institution through which she received her scholarship learn of it is totally up in the air, and the hassle is the last thing in the world she needed. at the time, Her parents were telling her she'd need to finance her own wedding at the time. She had basically no money, and didn't want a Kennedy wedding or anything like that, but she didn't want anything as tacky as a potluck, either.  Her parents and her husband's parents ended up paying for almost everything, so the money went into the bank. She could afford to give the money back if she had to, as it's still sitting in the bank, but if she were sued for the cost of her scholarship , and particularly if the institution sought punitive damages as a result of forfeiting any matches in which she participated due to non-amateur status, it could be ugly. It's highly unlikely even if it went to court that punitive damges would be awarded, as she didn't intentionally do anything wrong, but court costs alone could set her back in a major way. The only reason she didn't tell anyone about it was that she was concerned it would be embarrassing if her classmates and teammates learned that she had modeled, as it would be easy for them to get the idea that she had a very high impression of her physical appearance, and really didn't wish to undergo any hazing as a result. (In a way, my reasoning for not sharing that my photo was sold is similar; it's a nice picture, but I'm not that hot.)  Where pseudoaunt is concerned, she's looked it up, and the statute of limitations is closing in rapidly, anyway. She has limiyted time in which to concern herself.

I'm going to  delete the picture for now if I can remember how to do it.  I just hope the person gets a life and leaves me alone.

Surfing - not yet THE Maya Gabeira, but I did well

My friends and I had surfing lessons today. My brother and I actually did fairly well.  I would post a picture, but the place that gives the lessons is posting it on their website as well, which will probably ultimately land it on it  Google as well. My "conscience" who is concerned about blogging integrity would think I stole the picture of myself surfing from google or from the website.  You'll have to take my word for it  -- or not  --  that I was good  - not as good as my heroine Maya Gabeira, but good enough that the instructor said I'm a natural and don't need anymore lessons if  I don't plan to take the sport seriously and I just need to be careful and pay attention to lifeguards' and other posted warnings about shark sightings, riptides, undertows, etc., and not to overestimate my skill level with respect to the height of waves.

Note carefully, dear critic: this is Maya Gabeira, probably the world's greatest female surfer. I am not claiming that it is I. If you pay attention to the height of the wave, you'll realize that I'd have to be Jodi Arias to claim that I mastered a wave of such magnitude. I tackled the bunny waves. Still, I surfed them well after a few initial wipeouts.                                                                                                                                                                           


          

We're spending time at my house for the remainder of the day and evening.  Meredith doesn't officially have classes tomorrow because of freshman stuff, so she's in no hurry to get out of here tomorrow, though she wants to get her stuff into her apartment before her roommate takes up all the closet space.  I've been fortunate not to have to deal with that issue.  Alyssa has already started classes, but her college is just forty-five minutes or so down the road,  so she can leave either later this evening after the traffic eases up, or leave really early in the morning before traffic becomes heavy. I would go back tonight if I were she, but she's not bothered by early morning stuff, so she'll probably spend the night.  My dad will be awake so she won't set the alarm off when she leaves. Otherwise, she'd have to wake me up to disarm the system, and that early in the morning, I might do it wrong and wake up the entire neighborhood. I'm not a morning person.

                                                             I LOVE the Beach Boys.

Slumber Party, Not to Be Confused with the Donner Party, Even Though One Person Present Had the Surname "Donner"

My mom has never complained, even in the days when she found me almost insufferable, about the standards by which I maintained order and cleanliness in my room. It's one of the two  areas by which, even in her biased mind (the other being piano-playing ability and ability to master singing harmonies; Matthew does [honestly] have the better overall singing voice of the two of us) I am not inferior to my brother.  My mother loves both of as much as any other mother loves her children, but Matthew comes up on top in most head-to-head comparisons in her opinion. I'm old enough not to be terribly bothered by it anymore, especially since she seems to try to be fair. Where my room is concerned, she mostly thinks I go a little bit overboard. She thinks I'm the bedroom equivalent of the little kid who always has to have his toy cars lined up in a row as opposed to ever actually playing with them,  as in  "on the spectrum." I think we're all entitled to a few little quirks without being labeled as autistic or  anything close. I don't throw fits when people pull down the covers to the bed or extra bed and get in if it's someone who's supposed to be sleeping there. We all should be  allowed our little quirks. My quirk is the degree to which things in my room must match and the cleanliness upon which I insist, which necessitates a no-food rule.

Alyssa, Jared's cousin, arrived tonight instead of tomorrow. I only have two beds in my room, and one is a roll-out I keep in my closet, although it has Westin mattress and box springs I pull out of my rather large walk-in bedding, rug, and linen closet, so the bed is very comfortable. Alyssa could have slept in the guest room, which is also very nice, but she wanted to be in with us, so she was going to sleep in my recliner but we felt sorry for her because she has cramps and decided she should sleep in a real bed. Meredith took the recliner and let Alyssa have the bed.

We watched movies downstairs first, because I don't serve popcorn in my room. I do serve drinks, but not food, and certainly not to a group as large as three, and certainly not popcorn, as that's when things start to get messy. I might consider letting someone eat Halloween candy there, but that's about the extent of it. I'm sure everyone thinks I'm way to picky about my room, and I almost admit I am, but it's a very nice room and has to be treated well or the furnishings won't stay nice. Most of the bedding I'm taking with me when I move to an apartment and later a condo, which is a real incentive to take care of it.

There are times when I'm practicing so much that the musical motif is overpowering, and I'm sick of looking at musical symbols, but such is not the case now, so I have the musical motif out.  Even with my OCD-ness, we were able to make the decor work. 

Everyone was  asleep when the boys showed up, making the sort of racket that would wake up even any dead people who may exist as ghosts in our house. The other two girls went back to sleep a few minutes later, but I'm still up. I'll have to sleep a little later, and the others know they can go get breakfast without me. I can also sleep on the beach tomorrow as long at I remember to thoroughly coat myself with SPF 50 sunblock every hour or so. The smartest thing to do would be to thoroughly immerse myself in the frigid Pacific for just long enough to get chilled. Then I  can dry off and coat myself thoroughly with sunblock, then lie down on a towel on my tummy and cover my body with another towel. I should get a good nap and with minimal sun damage.

Regardless of what I down, I'll have a Frankie-and-Annette day on the beach with minimal skin injury so that I will be OK for surfing on Sunday. We'll probably even play beach football or volleyball, which is such a Frankie-and-Annette thing to do.

guest bed

my bed

blanket throw we threw over recliner because it's leather to make it feel warmer and cozier

fleecy blanket we threw on top of Meredith on the recliner

Funeral Talk

funerals are a topic of discussion society in general avoids

The topic of funerals, or death in general, is something most of us would prefer to avoid either in conversation or in thought.  My dad's longest-term secretary is forced to think about it right now. Her husband is in what is believed to be the final stages of hospice care due to a mitochondrial degenerative disease. If he makes it through the night, he probably won't make it through tomorrow.

While he was still lucid,  which was not long ago, as this particular illness acts on the body while leaving the mind clear until the very end when the patient is basically comatose, the man told his wife where to find an envelope with information concerning his final wishes.  They'd discussed the topic at length, and she was surprised to hear that there was more he hadn't already told her.  When he slippped into a coma, she looked for the envelope. It was where he told her it would be. She opened it. It didn't contradict anything he had told her previously. It merely said he wanted no organ music at the funeral -- that piano was fine, guitar was good as well, but no organ -- and named a song he wanted at the funeral and another one that he wanted sung at his graveside.

The song he wants sung at his funeral is Paul Simon's "American Tune." I would assume he wanted to make a statement of some sort with this, as it's not particularly funereal. What he wants at his graveside is a little odd. He wants the Eagles' "Take It to the Limit."  No one who knows about this can figure out why he chose this particular song. It's certainly not funereal, and, as far as his wife knew, wasn't a particular favorite, although he liked classic rock and roll.  I've played stranger requests at funerals, the most bizarre of which was probably  "Funky Town," which makes "Take It to the Limit" seem like standard funeral fare.

The wife asked my dad to do those two songs at the funeral, in addition to "The Lord's Prayer," as the funeral service itself will be held in a church.  My dad can't say no to a woman who has been such a loyal employee and friend for twenty years -- longer, I supppose, as I think she worked for him before my parents lost their first twins.  My mom will handle the prelude on piano, and my dad will sing the three requested songs, although my mom would probably do a better job with "The Lord's Prayer."

It's somewhat unusual to discuss the funeral before the guy has passed, but his wife brought it up to my dad. He may take my pseudoaunt's younger brother along, as he likes the version of "American Tune" that Simon and Garfunkel did together better than Simon's solo version, and the Eagles always had harmony.

The funeral will presumably be late next week unless the guy unexpectedly lingers, and will be in the town in which my family formerly lived before our most recent move.  As the funeral will be well-attended and I personally did not know the man, I won't attend, nor will my brother.   It still seems odd to make arrangements, other than the pre-arrangements that a lot of people make for themselves far before the fact, before the man has passed, but perhaps it's easier this way for his wife. Maybe she thinks she won't be able to hold herself together well enough to make coherent decisions once her husband has made the official crossover. Regardless, far be it from me to judge her or any decision she makes.

                                This is Simon and Garfunkel together singing "American Tune. " The video is probably from the Concert in Central Park.

This blog is now ended.   Go now in peace to love and serve the Lord or whomever it is you serve.

frolicking in the sun like a couple of living Annette Funicellos; just no Frankie in sight yet

an example of some of the alleged frivolity we will experience tomorrow

My friend Meredith is here to spend her final days before going off to begin her third year of college. I still have another almost two weeks off. Don't feel too sorry for her, though, as she attends one of the prettier campuses in the U.S. with extremely mild weather.  It's just the idea of giving up the freedom of summer for the grind of acadaemia. She has a tougher year in terms of course load than I do, as I did most of the toughest work over the past two years. What she doesn't have -- just as no one at my university other than I will have this year --- is two separate senior performance major recitals. (Music education majors have recitals as well, but they're far less demanding.)  I therefore reserve the right to  pull the martyr card if I feel the need at any time between now and February.

I mostly haven't practiced since she's been here. I did get in an hour each of both piano and violin while she was sleeping, but that's barely scratching the surface in terms of practice for me.  I'll do what I can tomorrow and Sunday, but my best friend and I don't get to see each other every day anymore. I'll be lucky if I get to see her in December.

Tomorrow the boys and my friend Alyssa arrive, so we'll have the more typical "Beach Blanket Bingo" experience. I have enough  SPF 50 sunblock for all of us, and I have campus privileges and a dorm room, so we can find a nice shady spot or go inside and cool off. We'll have a nice day.

Sunday we're going to try surfing.That should be a laugh.

This blog is ended. Go now in peace to love and serve the Lord or whomever it is you choose to love and serve.

I WON that freaking fecal smear contest, barf or no barf.

This is SO not my friends and me that it almost makes me sick -- not as sick as fecal smears make me, but sick just the same.  Were young people ever really like this, or was it merely Hollywood's impression of what young people are supposed to be like?

Tomorrow my friend arrives in early afternoon. I was up late last night, so I'm sleeping late tomorrow at aunt's and uncle's house, then driving home in late morning. I could seriously get used to living in a house that feels like a Dakota winter when it's just past Labor Day.  I was prepared this time and brought sweats, thermals, and warm pj's.

I won the war of the barf videos and bestiality pedophilia rumors. Jeffrey deleted.  By the way, all the interns working on the previous two days had to test that particular specimen. I was the only one who deleted my breakfast, but also the only one who got the diagnosis right.  The chief pathologist came by my work station and gave me a high five.  He said he threw up on his first fecal smear, too.  He told me to put Mentholatum or Vicks Vapo-rub  in my nostrils before putting on my mask next time. He said it still looks gross and you have to look, but the smell factor can be greatly reduced.

Tomorrow my friend and I are hanging out at the beach, but we can't stay for too long, because even with sunblock, she'll burn with too much exposure. She doesn't live in a sunny climate now. We want to spend more time there with other friends on Saturday, so it would be foolish for her to dangerously burn her skin tomorrow.  Sometimes really late afternoon is a good time to go.

I'm going to try to talk her into surfing lessons. She was on the diving team with me and is a strong swimmer, so she shouldn't be terribly afraid, although a pool is different than the Pacific in many ways, from undertows to sharks. In terms of undertows, I listen to the experts and don't go in when they say it's unsafe. In terms of sharks, what are the odds? I suppose it could happen, but I don't lose sleep worrying about it. I don't go out terribly far when I'm swimming in the ocean, as I see no need to expose myself to unnecessary risks, but if I take surfing lessons, I'll go out however far the instructor says to go. I'm not afraid.

On Saturday my brother, Jared, Alyssa, and one of my brother's friends, in addition to a few of my friends will join my friend and me for beach frolicking.   No one will frolick with his or her blood relative, so it won't be disgusting.

Peace. love, and try not to play poker on your smartphone when war is the topic of discussion.

INFORMATION CONCERNING MY COWORKER'S RUMORED (ACCURATELY OR OTHERWISE) INTEREST

This post is in discussion of the fetishes which may or may not be possessed by my co-worker. He would say I'm displaying delusions of grandeur by even referring to myself as his co-worker, implying I'm somehow his  professional equal, where he's a degreed (bachelor's degree, to be specific; I don't want anyone to consider him more academically accomplished than he really is; at least he didn't stop at an A.A. -- I'll give him that -- but he's not exactly a PhD)  lab technician, while I'm a lowly intern who is two quarters shy of my three bachelor's degrees, one of which is in biochemistry, which is the field of his degree. He's leaps and bounds above me -- so far that it's surprising  he even acknowledges my existence.  I should consider myself honored that he bothered videotaping me as I was tossing my cookies while preparing the fecal slide. I should feel flattered that he is threatening to post the incriminating footage on YouTube or anywhere else.  The fact that he has noticed me should cause me to feel all warm and fuzzy.

I won't discuss pedophilia, regardless of any real or falsely implied connection my co-worker may have to the practice. It's disgusting enough that I cannot bear to think of it, much less write about it. And, if truth be known, I seriously doubt the man, obnoxious though he may be,  has any connection to the practice. I can't exonerate him entirely, as some of the rumors have even been on the Internet, and we all know that anything on the Internet cannot be automatically discounted.

Let us instead focus our attentions upon another rumored aberration possibly [or possibly not] possessed  and/or practiced by this rather obnoxious individual. The topic is, if you have not yet predicted, bestiality. (I misspelled it earlier. The other spelling [beastiality] makes more sense to me, but according to the experts, it is incorrect.) I'm glad, just in the even that my co-worker ever finds this blog, that I corrected the spelling myself before he found it and pointed out the error of my spelling. He would take great pleasure in doing just that. Then again, if he did that, it would further confirm his interest, and perhaps expertise, related to the topic.

A synonym to bestiality is zoophilia. I would not have guessed merely by looking at the two words that they were synonymous. I would have assumed that zoophilia was reserved for amorous relations with wild and/or exotic animals. (This was silly of me; just because zoophilia has the word zoo in it should not infer that it would refer inherently to animals commonly found in zoos.) Such is not the case, however, and the two words are, for all intents and purposes, interchangeable. Some experts (seriously, while I admit to being the author of a blog on this topic, why would anyone devote serious research or make one's life's work the study of such a topic?) reserve the term zoophilia to describe either the desire or the tendency to engage in such acts, while bestiality to refer to the specific act of engaging in such practice. Former President Jimmy Carter would probably consider the two terms one and the same, as if you've committed sex with an animal in your heart and mind, you've, for practical purpose, actually done the deed. Others would say it doesn't matter what you think about, but matters only if you act on said desires.  I have no answer to the overall question, but, all things considered, I would prefer to keep my distance from those who contemplate such relationships whether or not they act on their bizarre desires.

I'd now like to toss out a third term for your consideration:  zoosexuality, which refers to those whose sexual identity is defined by a desire to have romantic and sexual relations with animals. I can't quite wrap my mind around this one. As a true  liberal, I had to learn to  accept that perhaps heterosexuality was not the  One True Way, but I must draw the line at zoosexuality, if only for the reason (and it's not the only reason)  that I don't believe an animal can truly give consent for a sexual act. Even if he or she were to appear to enjoy what was being done to or with him or her, is that, in and of itself, informed consent? (Sort of like a woman's having an orgasm during a rape   not negating the distinction of rape in describing the sexual act.) Just because a sheep appears to enjoy the act, does that negate the non-consensuality of the encounter?) I have no guess as to whether or not sheep appear to enjoy sexual activity, whether with other sheep or with humans, but I'm not sure that their mere sexual response can be rightly inferred as consent. (Once my neighbor's female kitten [six months old, so sort of a kitten], for who I was responsible while her owners were on vacation, apparently went into heat. She sounded as though the male cat was killing her, and I scared the tomcat away, but then she acted seriously pissed at me for having frightened away her suitor.)

similar to what I witnessed with my neighbor's cat, whom I had not previously known was a slut; does my cow-worker want to be that top cat?

In most parts of the world, bestiality is frowned upon if not outrightly banned by law. (In the U. S. the practice is banned by law.) In no part of the world, according to my sources, is it condoned. Imagine that!  There's one thing on which we as a species can agree, which is that animals are not meant to be boinked by humans.  It may be the only thing upon all nations agree. (Obviously the zoosexuals don't agree, and apparently have websites declaring just why their exercising of their sexual expression should not be considered  deviate, strange, wrong, or illegal. I didn't visit any of the aforementioned sites because I don't want any of that smut on my hard drive.)

Mt co-worker (I'll continue to use the word  to describe our work relationship whether or not it harms his sense of self-worth and feels that it cheapens the value of his degree)  may no more about the information that that which I have  shared. Then again, maybe he knows even less. Rumors, even though they sometimes turn out to be rumors, are nothing more than rumors until proven otherwise.

Jeffrey, if you're still even thinking of posting your disgusting video on YouTube, you should seriously consider the ramifications your actions shall bring upon your head. (A pox on you and on your entire household if that video ever sees the light of YouTube!) I have not yet begun to fight.

CO-WORKER THREATENING TO POST ON YOUTUBE

Today when I was preparing the lovely slide and became ill in the process, one of the for-real employees -- a 24-year-old smartass --  videotaped my incident of illness. He's threatening to post the footage on YouTube. He says first he'll check with the legal department to ensure he's not violating any existing policies, as it would be funny to post the video, but not so funny that he wants to lose his job over it.

Since we're on the subject of 24-year-old smartasses, I'll post his picture.  This man may -- or may very well not --  be a pedophile. You can decide for yourself, and decide what chances you wish to take with your children, and with your animals as well, as there have been occasional rumors, which again may or may not be based in actuality, that he likes to get it on with dogs, cats, and farm animals.

Are yourchildren and pets safe with this man on the loose? Only you can make the call.  P.S. Please avoid Youtube for a few days.

the joys of being a flunkie

I could've used one of these today. As it was, I had to make do with a not-very-clean trash can.

Today I had a rather delightful [italics used to denote sarcasm] experience at the lab. I had to prepare a fecal  smear. This involves, in the event that the cognitively disabled (who used to be known as mentally retqarded but are no longer termed as such thanks to rosa and her law) are now reading my blog, donning major protective gear, using a small tongue-depressor-like stick to spead a sample of human feces from a jar onto a glass slide, then finally topping the slide with another glass slide.

Doing this would not have been so bad had it actually mattered, but another slide had already been prepared from the same sample by one of the professionals.  I was merely doing it for the experience.

It did make it better that I got the diagnosis right on the first try. It was giardia lamblia. I have no clue who the lucky victim might be.

I tosssed my cookies during the procedure. I can't wait until I'm a for-real pathologist and can make an underling prepare fecal sample slides for me.

"Deliverance" relationships, family reunions, and everything that goes along with it

Jared's sister has unusual beverage preferences.(not actually jared;s sister, though she looks similar; I can't post her for privacy reasons; she was actually  drinking her sea water out of a pail before someone got to her and stopped her)

I don't think it's an actual "Deliverance" relationship; I think they're only related by marriage. At least I THINK such is the case.

I just took a Lunesta and am waiting around for it to kick in. I didn't sleep much this morning and stayed active all day, so I should  be able to sleep before the wee hours of the morning.  my supervisor said not to worry about getting there especially early. i can modify my schedule and work later, as the lab operates 24 hours, although for insurance purposes among other things, interns aren't allowed there after 6:00 p,m.  I suppose the people who run the place think they're less likely to run into Bill Clinton Monica Lewinsky cigar and blue dress situations in broad daylight when the place is so crowded one couldn't find a space private enough to take advantage of an intern even if one was so inclined.

Today was fun.  I skipped out on the zoo portion of the festivities, and only barely participated in the park activities, but I went to the beach with the large group, and then went to Uncle Jerry and Aunt /Ilianna's house for a dinner of deep pit beef, rice, beans, and whatever else was there. As meat goes, I like deep pit beef OK, but I don't eat protein in huge quantities because I've had my first kidney stone, and I don't want to do anything to make another one anytime soon.  I've also been told calcium supplements contribute to kidney stone production. I suppose I'll have to keep drinking milk. It's weird, I don't know how the body can tell the difference, but it can. It uses calcium appropriately when it comes in the food you eat and drink, but if it's in pill form, it goes to the bloodstream and helps the kidneys make stones.  I can tolerate chocolate milk, so I suppose that will become my new favorite beverage.

The crazy lady replied OK when I told her to please leave me alone. I hope she means it. I still don't know what it was about, but as long as it's over, most things are well if they end well.

I'll spend tomorrow night at my aunt's and uncle's house near the lab, If I sleep decently Tomorrow night, I'll drive home Wednesday.Otherwise, I'll need to wait until Thursday. My friend from high school will arrive here on Thursday. We're going to do a few aquatic things, as she doesn't attend college near the ocean and wants to take advantage of the access.

After this week, I still have two more weeks to kill, and only about ten more hours to put in at the lab. that gives me high-quality practice time.  If I were more industrious, I'd look for a way to earn a bit of money, but I don't want to work. I'm an industrious student but , overall, a rather lazy human being.  one can only go so far against one's natural instincts.

taking the day off, though not by my choice; near drowning

It's not I, but accurately depicts how I look tonight/this morning.

I'm not going in to the lab  today. It's an hour's drive on the freeway, or mostly freeway (US101 is a highway in a few places), and my mom said I cannot safely make the drive  at 7:30 if I'm still awake at 6:00 in the morning. I could go, as I'm 18, but I'm living in my parents' home, so I need to follow their rules.   I'm not the defiant type, anyway. I really think I'd be OK, but I can't go and it's final.

My mom asked if anything is bothering me. I told her about the Internet problems She said just to block the lady of I could, and to ignore her otherwise, and as far as the author, she probably has better things to do than to worry about the accuracy of anything I did or didn't write, but that I should be cautious. I thought I was being cautious and relying on the horse's own mouth in terms of things that the authors or the author's siblings had said in books. She said the author has to have better things to do, but if I can think of anything I might have posted that might have been the impetus, I might want to remove it.

All we have to do is put in our required number of hours, and I'm ahead on my hours anyway. We have five days that we can call in before we're put on any sort of probation, and I haven't used any. If my dad calls, they'll take the excuse seriously and I won't even get any mental black marks next to my name.

I hate to waste the day. Once I go to sleep and wake up, I can do what I want, because my dad isn't lying and saying I'm sick. I'll probably hang out with Jillian's extended family, many of whom are here from Florida for an anniversary party for Jillian's parents. There are lots of babies and really little kids. Jared's Aunt Brooke is bringing her six little girls, and Jared's mom is bringing her children except for Jared, who doesn't want to hang out with a horde of little kids. Alyssa, my friend who is Jared's cousin, is here. we'll help keep tabs on the children together,  They'll go to the zoo while I'm asleep, but later they'll go to the park and to the beach.

My Aunt Ilianna and Uncle Jerry's  neighbors nearly lost their 20-month old daughter to a drowning accident. Her mom was going to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. The baby's father was doing something with the pool for just a minute while the baby was playing with toys in the family room. He left the gate unlatched because he was going back out. The baby, Roxanna, can open the safety latch on the sliding glass door and she did. She walked right out and into the pool. The father walked through the house to the garage to get a tool, then walked back and saw the sliding glass door opened. He screamed and the 3-year-old was so smart that she got up out of bed (she was sick) and called 911. She carried the phone downstairs to see what was going on and was able to tell the dispatcher that the baby had fallen into the pool and that daddy was getting her out.

The baby was probably in the water a total of about two minutes. The dad started CPR immediately, and the paramedics were there in about seven minutes.

She wasn't conscious for about eleven hours, but then she woke up. She's walking and talking. She should be released from the hospital this morning. There's no guarantee that there won't be some learning disability down the road, but from all appearances, the child is fine and no neurological damage was detected. Their pool isn't heated and has a lot of shade from trees, and they live in kind of a fog pit, so their pool is somewhat cold..That may have worked to the child's advantage. Whatever the situation turns out to be, they're lucky she even survived. If she has difficulty learning to read, they'll deal with it.

We don't even have children at our house most of the time, and we keep our pool locked unless one of us is in it or lying on  recliner beside it, just in case someone with kids comes over and we don't think to lock it when they arrive.  If you actually have kids, you have to be even more careful. I don't suppose Roxanna's father will ever make that mistake again. Their baby had been given one round of swimming lessons, but there is no such thing as drown-proofing a baby or very young child.

I suppose maybe I can go to sleep if I don't have to try so hard. I'd rather go to work, but I don't have the option.

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Spookiness on the Internet

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Spookiness on the Internet: This picture is intended merely to epitomize the spookiness that is out there on the Internet, and has no basis in reality in my life or,...

Spookiness on the Internet

This picture is intended merely as a metaphor for the spookiness that is out there on the Internet, and has no basis in reality in my life or, I hope, in anyone else's.

Sleep eludes me.  It's pointless to lie awake and stare at the minute-by-minute movement of the clock on my cable box.  I wish I had something profound to share.

A crazy lady has been bugging me on Twitter and telling me I'm mean to old opeople and that I must be Judge Alex's wife and that Judge Alex hacked into some account of hers and continues to do so on a regular basis and she can tell all of this by his shaky voice and by mine, which she's never heard unless she's a person I know in my real life, in which case she would know I'm not married to Judge Alex or anyone else. She said all sorts of other crazy stuff. I told the crazy lady, who may not even be a lady, that I'm an eighteen-year-old and I want her to leave mealone. i think you can block people from twitter, can't you? I'll check it out. She probably lives in Wasilla, Alaska or something and is no danger to me, but I'll err on the side of caution.

I did have an experience I'm not supposed to discuss much, but i had communication online with a child predator when I was in eighth grade. I never gave him enough information to find him to locate me; I was only outed when the feds were using fake identities to out child predators, and they and I came into contact with the same one. My contact with him was perfectly innocent until he sent a lewd picture, at which time I deleted the particular email and MySpace account (this was inthe olden days). Six months later when the feds caught up with him, they showed up at my school. It was totally dramatic,  and the school tried to blame me for having violated district technology policy,  but I never contacted this guy or anyone else I wasn't authorized to contact using school computers.  It was all on a  home computer, and all the guy and I talked about was the LSAT until he sent the inappropriate picture, and I deleted the account.  I will admit  way after the fact that I used a proxy server to bypass the district's filter, but everyone I know was doing the same thing, and it was only to access mostly sites I needed for research that were blocked, and a few sites I wanted just for pleasure, but that were not even pG-13.  If it had been something truly wrong that I did, the fact that almost everyone else did it would not have excused it in anyway, but what I did was harmless. For all I know, others may have acccessed hard-core porn using the proxy servers. I think districts have a little better handle on who is accessing proxy servers now, but back then, they had no way of tracking it. Anyway,  I know from my past experience that bad guys lurk out there, but I'm a little more savvy now about avoiding them than I was then, even though back then, I did OK. I just should have let my parents know about the picture so they could have alerted the proper authorities, which might have averted the mid-day visit from the FBI at school.

(The school had a really tough time processing that I was never a suspect; the feds wanted to ensure that I wasn't victimized.  It took two agents a long time to convinced the district that I wasn't a suspected terrorist, which was your tax dollars and mine at work.)

Additionally, a quasi-celebrity and author, whom I will not name nor give out any key words that might trigger this in a google search, but Becca or Knotty might guess with a few cryptic terms such as eating disorder and evangelical Christianity, sent me a Tweet PM. It freaked me a bit, as I wasn't sure what this person was talking about, and I certainly don't want to he sued if this person thinks I said something that was inaccurate. I deleted myself as a Twitter follower of this person, which I hadn't been of this person for long. It spooked, me, though.  I'll change my password just in case I've been hacked and someone wrote something to her on my account. I was hacked once before. Then I start wondering if, in a really tired state,  I Tweeted the person a question or comment, and the PM back  to me was perfectly innocent.  Since I deleted the person, I don't think any Tweet I might have sent the person would show up now.   I don't think I do a lot of sleep-tweeting, though. I still wonder what brought it on, and I'm a little scared. part of the problem is that I really don't understand Twitter's workings all that well. I've never spent enough time on it to know anything but the most basic workings.

I have to leave to drive to my [unpaid] lab job at 7:30 this morning. I'll stay at my aunt's and uncle's house until Wednesday late afternoon. My good friend is coming then, and she'll be here until Sunday. We'll have silly times , which will get my mind off Internet scariness.

I'd rather not do my job asleep on my feet tomorrrow, although no one's life would depend on it if I did, as this lab does not let anyone's diagnosis rest on the opinion of an unpaid intern with no degree.

Happy Labor Day, everyone.